A COUPLE of weeks ago, I decided to spend my lunch hour at my desk.
Nothing unusual - I do it sometimes to ensure that I get out of the office a little earlier. Except this time, I wasn't working. I was chatting online.
No, I wasn't conducting a clandestine conversation with an illicit lover, or someone I had to keep a secret. I was chatting with friends whom I don't normally see during the week.
It was then that it hit me: I was having online relationships with most of my friends, even though they are based here in Singapore.
Over the past two years, most of us, now in our early 30s, have passed into the realms of middle or upper management.
Some of us have even started businesses, leaving us with less time to hang out, to meet for dinner and drinks after work, or go late-night shopping. Not to mention that most of us are also negotiating the paths of long-term relationships, or are married.
Even phone calls take time these days. My friend S and I used to spend an average of two hours each Sunday hogging the phone lines, exchanging news, telling jokes, or merely commenting on the weather.
But those hours on the phone are now rushed, 10-minute jobs: "Hey! Just called to say hi. Can't talk for long."
So, sneakily, insidiously, it has become a habit for us to chat online via stolen conversations during the workday, or slipping in a half hour here and there once the rush of deadlines has passed.
I've not been known to favour online chatting. To me, it's too easy to superimpose one's interpretations of what's being said onto what pops up in message boxes.
Misunderstandings have happened. Fights have taken place.
But these chats - usually reserved for really good friends whom I've known for years - have become a way to tide us over between physical catchups, where hugs are exchanged and we don't have to tap on keys and hit "enter" in order to communicate.
Spending time together - be it in person, on the phone, or through an online chat - is always a pleasure.
These chats fortify me; they help me feel as though we aren't quite so far away, even if it's been two weeks since we last met, and it's going to be another week before we can actually meet for coffee.
But, two weekends ago, three of us did meet in person. We booked ourselves into a swish Sentosa hotel and spent the day at a spa together.
We giggled as we slathered mud over ourselves in the mud bath (it's good for your skin and, no, we didn't wrestle), lounged around in the jacuzzi swapping gossip and stories of boyfriends and partners, had dinner together and then retired for a night of mimosas and DVDs.
It was time well spent, but none of us said, at the end of it, that we would see each other soon.
We know that our schedules are hectic, and that we lead full lives. Yet - and those online chats have made this abundantly clear - we know those lives are inclusive, rather than exclusive, of each other.
So, girls, I'll see you online. That'll do until our next big day out.
